


5 Promises Fudou Broke and 1 Promise Sakuma Made Instead

by theauthorish



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: Fudou Akio always breaks his promises. In the end, Sakuma decides he should just do the promising-- at least that way he can keep it.





	1. Chapter 1

Sakuma should have known from the first glance-- from the instant he saw those damnable, maniacal eyes; the instant he laid his own eye on that bloodred tattoo, that smug, careless, sharp-as-a-knife smirk--

He should have known. Fudou Akio never kept his promises.

Looking back, Sakuma probably shouldn't have needed to look to know that Fudou was bad news wrapped up in decidedly all too pretty (despite his best attempts to appear somewhat edgy, judging by his hair and that ridiculous, likely illegal splotch of ink on his head) packaging. After all, his first promise was that they would destroy Raimon.

 _Ha_ , Sakuma had thought, _like that would happen._

Raimon was unstoppable. They evolved in the blink of an eye, and you might have had them on their knees, gasping and bleeding, painted in bruises and drenched in sweat and tears, but _they would not bow_. They would, undoubtedly, stand and somehow find the strength to flip the tables.

 _So of course Kidou had joined them_. The bitterness had come out of nowhere, sharp and stinging. And Fudou had grinned wider, felt his hook snag, knew then that he'd won; Sakuma-- desperate, weak, and ignoring every rational bone in his body-- had given in and believed him.

They lost, unsurprisingly. And with that, Fudou's promise evaporated in the blink of an eye: power, revenge, victory, glory... he'd promised it all, if only they would nurse their resentment and hate and anger until it consumed them, burned them, fueled them...

A broken promise from one broken boy to another. It was fitting.


	2. Chapter 2

Fudou's second promise came a long, long time later.

He'd come to Sakuma's room that evening after the Italy match. He'd said, hands in his pockets, slouching a tad too low for it to be anything but forced, "Let's walk." He wouldn't even meet Sakuma's gaze. He was staring at the painting just above and to the right of them, hanging between the doors of the bedrooms.

"It's nearly midnight. Besides, aren't you tired?" Sakuma didn't bother to comment on his observations. It would only provoke him, and it had been too long a day-- a great one, obviously, but... he needed to rest.

"Heh. Me, tired? Not a chance. I've got the stamina of a fuckin' god." Fudou's smirk was still pointed at the painting. Was it really that fascinating to the guy? Sakuma had looked at it countless times. It wasn't much.

"My eyes are over here."

Fudou finally looked at him. His smirk widened. " _Eye_ , you mean. Singular. The one under the patch hardly counts if it can't see shit right now. That's what eyes do, isn't it? See?"

"What do you want, Fudou?" Sakuma sighed, resting his hand on the doorknob so the playmaker would see it, understand that if he didn't get to the point soon, Sakuma would assume there was none and get back to bed.

Fudou did indeed get the message. "To walk. Didn't you hear me?"

Sakuma rolled his eyes. "Then do it yourself, Mr. God-of-Stamina. _I'm_ tired." He began to shut the door.

Fudou made an odd, almost strangled noise. His hand twitched at his side, like he meant to reach out and block the door's path. He choked out, "Wait. Please. Walk with me."

Sakuma blinked; Fudou had not only asked for company instead of playing his stupid lone wolf game, he had said _please_. He was being _polite_.

Sakuma wanted to give in and go along with him, just to see what was so important to Fudou that he'd suddenly learned manners. Instead what came out was: "Are you sick?"

"Huh? Where did that come from?" Fudou snorted, back to petulant. "Fine, whatever. Never mind." He started to turn away, and was it crazy that Sakuma imagined him to be almost like a kicked puppy at that moment?

"I'll come!" He said quickly. If Fudou walked away now, he'd be too proud and stubborn to turn back. Sakuma might never know what it was he wanted to say, and he had to admit, he was curious. Besides, the kicked puppy thing was bothering him now. He almost felt guilty.

Fudou raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. What a pretentious bastard-- at least the guilt was gone. "Oh? Let's go then."

He continued moving, leaving Sakuma to scramble for a decent pair of pants (the shorts he had on for sleeping were short enough they were covered by his shirt, ergo, nonexistent in the eyes of anyone who might see them outside) and follow after him.

Fudou led the way out of the lodging house and towards the tree where Endou had strung up his practice tire. "All right, this should be far enough-- I know sometimes the others can't sleep either; can't have them overhearing," he muttered almost to himself.

That was one mystery solved, at least. Until then, Sakuma had practically been under the impression they were going so far so Fudou could kill him off and hide the evidence.

"Fudou?" Sakuma prompted.

"Yeah, yeah, wait a sec." Fudou leant back against the tree and shut his eyes... gathering the words, maybe? Courage? Everything he'd done so far had been out of character for him, and Sakuma had no idea what to expect.

Fudou exhaled deeply. "I... like you."

Sakuma blinked.

"You're fierce. Smart. Strong. You can keep up with me. And I like it-- the way you are. Simple as that." He paused. "It helps that you're not so bad to look at either." Fudou still wouldn't open his eyes. All the better for Sakuma, since it meant he wouldn't see the flush on his cheeks.

Sakuma wanted to ask what he meant. Or maybe why he was saying this now. Or maybe what he wanted to do next. Instead, he asked (again), "Are you sick?"

Fudou shot him a withering glare. "That's getting old, Sakuma-kun. I'm perfectly healthy, and I mean what I'm saying."

Oh.

"But-- that doesn't matter. I needed that out of my system, that's all."

 _Oh_.

"So what do you want?" Sakuma asked softly, to hide the twinge of... what? Hurt? Sadness? That didn't make sense. It wasn't like _he_ liked Fudou. It wasn't like _he'd_ confessed.

"To be friends. We haven't really gotten along until lately-- how about we start over?" He stuck out a hand and gave his signature grin. "Friends?"

"Oi... you can't just--" _change the topic like that..._

Sakuma sighed. Fudou didn't care for social convention, anyway.

"Fine." He took Fudou's hand in his own, shook it firmly. And apparently, because  
Sakuma was some kind of masochist, he added, "But you won't try anything, will you? We'll just be, you know, friends first?"

Fudou smirked, and the way the moonlight hit him, glinted off his almost-bared, almost-vicious teeth, made Sakuma think maybe he wouldn't mind being...

No. _Nope_. No thinking like that right after being magnificently friendzoned.

"Promise," Fudou said.

He broke that promise the next day-- _literally_. They'd been playing truth or dare, and of course that's when Tsunami decided the pocky game would make a great dare for Fudou; in fairness, he'd probably expected Fudou to choose one of the managers, especially considering he had the option of anyone in the room, playing or not, but--

Fudou had looked annoyed, snatched the pocky out of Kabeyama's hands (because of course, it was his pocky Tsunami had seen) and marched the short distance to Sakuma's spot in the circle.

"Dude," Tsunami had mumbled, somewhere in the background, only to immediately be elbowed silent from maybe five different directions? Sakuma wasn't sure. He was too busy feeling his face burn up, watching as Fudou yanked out a single stick of pocky and twisted to toss the box back at its owner, and trying his best not to appreciate the oddly gorgeous figure in front of him.

Fudou must have done something to him, somehow, last night. Speaking of which... "You promised just friends," he hissed, scooting back a little.

"Tch. I didn't know this was going to happen. And I'd rather kiss you than anyone else." Sakuma hated that the way Fudou said it, like mere fact, sent a shiver down his spine.

Fudou held the treat gingerly between his teeth. He was even kind enough to take the end with less chocolate. He couldn't speak anymore, so he raised a brow instead. _Well? Are you chickening out?_

"I hate you," Sakuma mumbled, and he leant in and took the other end.

So they played, and as they came progressively closer to each other, Sakuma could count the surprisingly long lashes that tickled Fudou's cheeks, saw every shade of color that made up the blue-gray of his eyes, and he was trying so hard not to squirm under Fudou's equally cutting gaze--

And just like that, their lips met with the last bite. Before he could jerk back, Fudou settled a strong, sure, slightly rough hand on the back of his neck, and _oh, he can actually be gentle_ , is what Sakuma thought because everything-- from the fingers holding him in place to the sweet sucking on his bottom lip, to the way Fudou's tongue traced the inside of his mouth and asked permission to go deeper-- was soft and tentative, and Sakuma didn't even notice his own hands finding Fudou's shoulders, pulling him closer, the kiss going on longer than it probably should have. The room was silent, for once, as anything that could have been dropped in shock had already fallen.

They pulled away breathless, and Fudou flashed a smirk, and Sakuma said, "You broke your promise."

"Tch. Promises are made to be broken anyway. Besides," he continued, standing, an even cockier edge to his grin than before. "You liked it, didn't you?"

There was no way they could just be friends after that.


	3. Chapter 3

The third promise is one of Sakuma's best and worst memories. Simultaneously.

It was several months after the FFI. By then, they'd been more-than-friends-less-than-dating for a while, and Fudou had quickly claimed what used to be Kidou's spot at their lunch table, and on the team; no one really minded the latter, actually. He was brash and rude and loud, harsh and ridiculously cocky... but he knew his stuff. And he was, maybe, sorta decent. Underneath the other stuff.

Besides, they all knew he wasn't a replacement. Kidou could always come back, if he wanted to. They'd make room for him if he did.

As for Sakuma and Genda, well, they just put up with Fudou's intrusion, and eventually grew to consider him a real friend. Sakuma did genuinely respect Fudou, and after _that_ day, he'd found he'd developed a little bit of a crush on the mohawked idiot. Just a smidge of one.

But, _god_ , he was so _annoying_ sometimes. Like he was being now.

"Hey, Sakuma-kun," he said, popping one of Sakuma's sushi rolls into his mouth. "Let's ditch practice today."

Sakuma swatted at Fudou's hands to keep him from snatching any more of his food. He said, "We can't do that! I'm captain, you're playmaker-- we _need_ to be there! Why do you want to play hookie anyway?"

"So? S'not like it matters anyway. They can function without us for a day. Ditch with me."

"No."

"C'mon. Genda will keep 'em in line. Right, Mr. King of Goalkeepers?" Fudou snatched a little bit of Genda's chicken nuggets this time, and though the goalkeeper frowned, he let it pass.

"I might," he began.

"Traitor!" Sakuma exclaimed, at the same time Fudou said, "See?" He stretched his mouth into a smirk.

Genda raised a single hand, and they fell silent. "I might," he repeated. "If I'm taking over for a good reason." He eyed Fudou pointedly.

Fudou swallowed. Weird, he hadn't had any food in his mouth... was he nervous? And was it just Sakuma, or were Fudou's cheeks starting to turn pink?

Genda quirked up an eyebrow, and Fudou's expression morphed into a more familiar scowl. He glowered at Genda. "You're actually going to make me say it?"

The eyebrow rose the slightest bit higher in response.

"Tch." Fudou twisted slightly to face Sakuma, who by now, was watching silently, curious to know what was going on. "Ditch practice with me--"

"You already said that," Sakuma cut in, just to piss him off. He deserved it, for stealing his food.

"Will you shut up and let me talk?" Fudou hissed. "I'm not done. Ditch with me, so we can go on a date."

Sakuma stared. And stared. Fudou refused to meet his eyes now, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on some point to his left. "A date? You want... to take _me_... on a _date_?" Sakuma wasn't sure he'd heard right. Like yeah, they were definitely past friends, but Fudou hadn't exactly acted on it...

Now, Fudou was glaring at him, not that he paid it much attention. There wasn't much venom in it anyway; it seemed more like some kind of defense mechanism to hide his embarrassment. "You heard me. I won't say it again."

Sakuma arched an eyebrow in response to that. "Well that's hardly going to get you a yes," he muttered.

Much to Sakuma's surprise, Fudou seemed to blanch a bit. "Look, just--" he cut himself off with a groan, letting his head fall to the table. "Genda, help me out here."

Genda looked towards Sakuma expectantly. "I wouldn't normally side with him, but you should probably cut him some slack." He gave Fudou a mildly concerned once over. "He's been freaking out about this since last night."

He'd been planning this? He'd been nervous about this? What?

"Tch. I take it back. Go back to being useless, you're making this worse," Fudou ground out, still not lifting his head.

Genda shrugged. "You asked for help. I gave you some. Now do the rest yourself, lazy."

" _Tch_."

Sakuma thought it over. Why the hell not? They might as well become official-- sure they fought and spat and kicked and basically drove each other up the wall every other hour... but since _that_ day, they'd gotten into the habit of leaning on each other or lacing their hands together when no one else was around, as if they were already a couple.

Sakuma also may or may not have replayed the kiss in his mind about a thousand times. He also maybe, just maybe, wanted to do that again. And that was only likely to happen if they became a _thing_.

But he wanted to make Fudou work for it. So he said, "What's in it for me?" As if he weren't already decided. He carefully arranged his face into a slightly skeptical expression-- Fudou _was_ a genius (despite his appearance). If he wasn't careful, Fudou would recognize that he'd already won Sakuma over.

Fudou finally straightened up. He smirked broadly. Now this was a familiar Fudou face. Cocky, lazy, confident, a little dangerous. "Why, Sakuma-kun, what do you think? The best date you've ever been on." He paused, and his grin took on a mocking glint. "Probably the only one, though, so that's not saying much, is it?"

"Oi!" Sakuma felt his face warming, because damn, it was true, but did he need to rub it in? "I am this close--" Sakuma held up two fingers, barely a hair's breadth of space between them. "From getting up and leaving your sorry ass here, dateless, and never, ever, _ever_ going on date with you," he growled, leaning over the table to jab a finger in Fudou's face.

Fudou jerked his head back, and he grinned even wider. What a madman. What did Sakuma see in him anyway? He was crazy, and a _bastard_ , and-- "I love it when you get riled up, Sakuma-kun," Fudou drawled. He licked his lips-- _shit_ those lips would be the death of Sakuma, so soft and warm and surprisingly gentle, if he remembered right.

"So, ditch with me?"

Sakuma had always liked danger.

He sighed and slunk back down into his seat. "Was that a promise?"

"What? The best date thing?" Fudou seemed startled. "Was that a yes?"

"I asked first," Sakuma huffed, pretending not to notice he sounded like a petulant child.

Fudou chuckled. "Sure. I can promise that."

"Then yes. Fine. I'll go later."

Genda let out a deep breath. "Finally. You two bicker like an old married couple." He met the two glares currently directed at him with an even stare. Then he smiled softly in Sakuma's direction. "Don't worry, Sakuma. I'll make sure the team works their hardest."

It didn't take long for the promise of the best date ever to fall to shreds, almost like the universe was dead set on messing up Fudou's plans.

First, the restaraunt Fudou had chosen was closed down for renovation. Then while they walked, Sakuma had tripped going down the stairs-- and taken Fudou with him, reaching out and instinctively grabbing onto him for balance; they didn't break anything, thank goodness, but they did get a ton of scrapes and bruises. Next, the ice cream Fudou had bought them got knocked to the ground by some running kids (It had been, surprisingly, Sakuma's favorite flavor; when Sakuma mentioned this, Fudou simply gave him a strange look and said, "Well duh, I do pay attention to you, Sakuma-kun."). Sakuma then had to hold Fudou back from chasing them down. For most of it, too, Fudou and Sakuma alternated between awkward, uncertain attempts at flirting and angry insults or spat out sarcasm.

As if that wasn't enough, on the way home, it began to rain-- not just a little drizzle either, but a real storm, thunder rumbling, the wind howling in their ears, water slapping at their faces. They were the very definition of cold, wet, and _miserable_.

"You lied." Sakuma had found a bridge they could huddle under until it passed, and now he was leaning against a pillar, pouting.

"What? Wind's too loud."

"I said, _you lied_! You broke your promise." Sakuma glared at him. "And now I'm soaked and I'm freezing, I'll probably get sick, and my body's still sore all over from that fall and we have a match in three days and--"

"It's not my fault!" Fudou protested, clenching his hands into fists. "I don't control the weather or the stupid restaraunt or even the dumb kids who wasted our ice cream-- and it's hardly my fucking problem you don't have any sense of shit-fucking balance off the field! And by the way, _I_ can blame _you_ for that, because you _took me down with you!_ " He seethed. He looked like he was trying very hard not to start hitting Sakuma.

He let out a huff of air and sank to a crouch. "Tch. I didn't want it to be like this, you know. Genda was right, I was _freaked_ about this yesterday. And for the past week, actually." He glowered at the ground. "And I--" he stopped. Worked his jaw.

Sakuma seemed to recall Fudou wasn't a wordy sort. His words were mean and terrible and cutting no matter what he felt; it was his actions that were honest. And his actions had clearly displayed effort, and an unexpected amount of concern, too.

"Look," Sakuma began, approaching him slowly. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm just stressed. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Tch." Fudou's brow wrinkled even more. "I just-- I tried. I know I said promises were meant to be broken, that time, but... but-- I didn't want to break this one. So." He cleared his throat roughly.

"Yeah, I figured." Sakuma bent and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me?"

Fudou scoffed. For a moment, he didn't do anything. Then he twisted, lifting his face to meet Sakuma's gaze, and before he could doubt himself, Sakuma dove in.

Their teeth collided from the force of it, and Sakuma's snagged on Fudou's lower lip when he drew back in surprise, and there was rain water dripping from their hair and their lashes and into their mouths, and god it was messy and clumsy and all kinds of amateur.

But it was also really warm, and pleasant, and soothing. It felt good, and it wasn't lacking in passion. Not in the slightest.

When Sakuma finally pulled back for air, he found Fudou gaping at him. "What the hell?"

"I--" Sakuma flushed. "Look okay, if it wasn't--"

"It was great, shut up." Fudou's chest was heaving as he gasped for air himself, his face red as the tattoo he used to have. "I just didn't think you'd be man enough to initiate, Sakuma-kun. Thought I'd have to do all the heavy lifting." His smirk was sharp as a knife.

"Bastard," Sakuma answered, without much weight.

"Oh, I'll show you _bastard_."

The storm petered out a few hours later, and when they finally got back to the club room that evening, drenched, rumpled, and covered in welts, they blamed it on the terrible chain of events that had been their failed date.

Everyone but Genda accepted it no question. The goalkeeper, however, took in their still-swollen lips, the mud coating their clothes and their skin where none should have been able to reach (seriously, Sakuma's entire bare back was splashed in mud, and his hip had a suspiciously hand-shaped stain to boot), and the marks that were definitely not bruises peppering their jaws and throats, and said, "If you ever make me watch you guys, I will quit this team."

And then he left, ignoring their spluttered protests.


	4. Chapter 4

The fourth promise was broken along with Sakuma's heart; Sakuma thought that maybe Fudou's broke a little too, but that, he didn't know for sure. He was probably just projecting.

What he did know was that Fudou refused to look into his eyes. What he did know was that he was standing there, back to him, and he was saying--

"Look, Sakuma-kun, this isn't working. You know it, don't you?"

"Sakuma-kun? Five years now, I've always been Jirou. Suddenly, I'm back to _Sakuma-kun_? Like before? Like we didn't-- like it was nothing?" Sakuma demanded. "Look at me, Akio!"

"Why should I do that, _Sakuma-kun_?" The emphasis meant that Akio was doing that on purpose. Calling him Sakuma-kun, that is. He was purposely driving the weapon in deeper, pissing Sakuma off. Whether it was for fun or to hide his own pain or to make certain Sakuma finally did as he wanted and left, Sakuma had no clue about that either. Maybe it was a mix of all three.

Akio always did like getting a rise out of him.

"Goddamn it, Akio!" Sakuma surged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. " _Look at me_!" He spun Akio around to face him, and-- _crack_!

Sakuma's eyes were wide as he stumbled backward, cheek stinging from the slap. "What don't you get about this? I said _no_."

"You didn't," Sakuma muttered weakly, his hand coming up to the spot he'd hit. What... Akio had just... why?

"Tch. Maybe not in so many words," Akio ground out. "But you of all people should recognize my body language." His chest was rising and falling unevenly, like he was having trouble breathing. His fists were clenched so tight the knuckles were white. He was mad.

But why should he be? He was the one doing this! If anyone had a right to be upset, it was Sakuma.

"Fine! _Fine_! But _why not_?!" Oh, and he was angry now, well and truly angry. This wasn't the fumbling outrage of a few minutes ago. This was a thundering fury because Akio had _hit him_. He hadn't deserved that. And even if he had, how could anyone justify hitting their partner of five years?

"My reasons are my own. None of your business," came the unrightfully calm reply.

"What, are we back to our first meeting again? Where you play the part of cold lone wolf while you piss everyone off?" Sakuma sneered.

"Maybe." Akio shrugged languidly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was about to leave."

Indeed, he was. That was how Sakuma had found him, at any rate. What had been their shared flat was now bereft of any of Akio's things-- all of them in boxes outside, or stacked by the garbage chute, or in one of the two luggages by the door.

He still couldn't believe it. A small part of him-- that was shrinking by the second thanks to Akio's behavior-- was still trying to pass it off as a terrible nightmare. That piece of him was praying he was still on that stupid retreat, oversleeping, maybe, and he'd come home to find Akio grinning at him smugly, growling something like, _I've been waiting all week, Jirou, so I suggest you get into bed before I tie you up and drag you there myself._

The door creaked open-- lazy Akio, he'd been saying for a month now he'd oil those hinges. Of course he didn't. It snapped Sakuma out of his reverie, at any rate. "See you around, Sakuma-kun."

"You promised." It slipped out before Sakuma could catch it between his teeth, the faintest wisp of a whisper. God, no, he was so much stronger than this, why did he let that out?

Judging by the stiffening of his shoulders, Akio had heard. "I told you," he said softly. Was it just Sakuma's wishful thinking, or did he sound a little choked up too? "Promises were meant to be broken."

He started to shut the door behind him, but paused to say into the crack of space. "I won't break this last one, though. Don't worry. I swear, you won't ever have to see me again. Okay?"

It sounded... tender. Like the Akio Sakuma knew and loved for the past few years, instead of the old, aloof one he'd been pretending to be.

It made his heart ache.

"Good." Sakuma croaked out, but Akio didn't hear it. The door was already shut.


	5. Chapter 5

Sakuma was hardly even surprised when he spotted Fudou among the crowd cheering for Teikoku about three years later. Actually, he was more amazed that it had taken this long; Fudou always did break his promises, one way or another, and it stood to reason that Fudou's very last one-- that Sakuma need never lay eyes on him again-- was no exception.

The bleachers were particularly wild today, thrumming with adrenaline and anticipation (almost more than middle school soccer warranted, really), the audience at the edges of their seats like predators ready to pounce, ready to erupt into cacophony at the next goal.

Fudou, though, was not wild. In fact, he was deadly calm. If Sakuma knew him, he was mercilessly dissecting each team's tactics, cutting them apart to find each organ, figure out each function, and how best to jam the system. If all of them-- the cheering crowd, the sweating players, the tense managers and coaches-- were animals, Fudou was a scientist, watching from one side of the glass as they struggled, picking apart their strengths and weaknesses alike.

The match was over sooner than Sakuma expected, with Teikoku adding another victory to their belt. He lingered longer than necessary, making a show of cleaning after the boys and arranging his things carefully. Whether Fudou would actually show up and greet him was a bit of a toss-up; he'd never exactly been one for pleasantries, but Sakuma was almost certain they'd made eye contact...

"You did wait." The voice was both new and old-- it had picked up a hint of a foreign lilt in their time apart, and the consonants were sharper, crisper than they used to be, but there was no doubt that the rumble of it was the same one he'd been so intimately familiar with for more years than he could count. "Guess I still know you after all, Sakuma-kun."

Sakuma straightened up, turning to face him. "Fudou," he said. It had taken a year and a half after their separation for Sakuma to break himself of the habit of calling him Akio (or Aki-chan, when he especially wanted to piss Fudou off), but at least now it was at a point that the last name wasn't so strange on his tongue in its place. It was a bittersweet thing, really.

"In the flesh," Fudou replied easily, smirking. Sakuma smiled slightly. "I guess that last promise of yours was just as empty as all your other ones, then?" There was no spite behind that statement. Sakuma had long since made his peace with their past, and he suspected Fudou had done the same, or else he wouldn't have come.

Fudou only grinned wider in response.

"Figures," Sakuma mumbled in mock-exasperation, much to the amusement of the other. "So what did you want?" He rolled his eye as Fudou put a hand to his heart and affected an affronted air.

"I don't always--" he began to protest.

Sakuma narrowed his eye and cut in, "Yes, you do. So what is it?"

"Tch."

Sakuma fought not to roll his eye again. What a Fudou thing to do.

"You have practice tomorrow, right?" Fudou was saying. "Ditch with me."

Sakuma froze, the bag he'd been hitching over his shoulder slipping to the ground with a dull _thwump_. Ditch with me, he said, just like... just like he had all that time ago. Numbly, Sakuma registered that across him, Fudou was displaying an uncharacteristic patience, mouth turned down at the corners in concern as he let Sakuma process his words.

Sakuma was certain Fudou had picked them carefully-- he always did, phrasing whatever he meant to say in such a way as to provoke the reaction he wanted. But what expression did he hope to coax out of Sakuma?

Or maybe it had nothing to do with a specific result. Maybe he just wanted to make his intentions clear. And those intentions...

Sakuma wasn't about to get his heart shattered a second time. "No, Fudou," he said, his voice dull but steady. He shook his head to clear it, adding emphasis to his answer at the same time. "No, I won't ditch. I'm not a child anymore. I'm the assitant-coach. The adult. I have to be responsible," he explained, and he knew he was saying it for himself as much as he was saying it for Fudou.

God, he was pathetic, wasn't he? For all his talk of moving on, the instant Fudou came back, he was weak again.

"Come on, Sakuma-kun. I'm sure you could get someone to cover for you." Fudou took a tentative (for a moment, Sakuma merely marvelled at how the years had chabged Fudou-- he had never been the hesitant sort before) step closer. "Just hear me out, right? If you don't like what I'm saying, just leave and go to practice."

Sakuma's lips parted, but he caught the words, _yes, of course I'll listen,_ before they spilled out into the open air. Stupid traitorous heart. Was it suicidal?

The silence stretched... and stretched... and--

"Please, Jirou." Fudou's plea was soft. Gentle. Ironically, it felt like a punch to the gut. It was too close to the way he had spoken to Sakuma before they'd parted, especially since he'd used his first name for the first time in what might as well have been an eternity. And _god_ , all the wounds Sakuma thought had healed _stung_ , scabs cracking, splintering, opening to bleed.

"Don't call me that," Sakuma snapped, and he saw guilt and hurt flash in Fudou's eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Sakuma picked his bag up once more, walking until he was just behind Fudou. "You hit me," he whispered-- because damn it, if the scabs were peeling anyway, he might as well just yank the whole of them off.

"I know." There was no apology there. Just acknowledgement. Just acceptance. Sakuma wasn't surprised. "You didn't deserve it-- I was angry at myself, not you."

 _That_ startled Sakuma. It was rare for Fudou to admit anything, especially his mistakes and feelings. What he'd just said fell under both categories. Had he really changed that much?

 _No. No no no no_. Sakuma tamped down the stupid hope bubbling in his chest. He tried to, at any rate. He failed-- before he could leave, save his armor any more damage, Fudou spoke up again, voice tremulous and weak ( _oh god, he was so vulnerable and open, more than Sakuma had ever seen him, and maybe that meant they had a chance of working out this time?_ ) "Please. Five minutes. Then you can walk away."

Sakuma should have known not to wait; it always ended up like this, his heart playing right into Fudou's hands. "Fine. I should go now, the boys will be wanting to celebrate-- but if you wait for me outside Teikoku tomorrow at noon... I'll be there." Sakuma walked towards the exit, pausing at the threshold. "Five minutes," he said. "That's all you get."

He didn't turn to see Fudou's stiff nod.

The next day, Sakuma made his excuses to the other teachers he normally had lunch with, spinning some lie about having to check on a sick friend before quickly making his way to the school's front gate. To his surprise, Fudou was already there, leaning against a nearby tree with his eyes shut, head tilted back and into the meager shade cast by its leaves.

Sakuma slowed his approach, taking advantage of Fudou's seeming lack of awareness to take in his figure. He was wearing normal jeans today, instead of those hideous green shorts he'd worn the day before, and his shirt was nice, a simple graphic tee with some English phrase on it. He was still wearing that battered purple hoodie, though. He really ought to wash it... or buy a new one.

The sunlight played with the angles of his collarbones (left bare by the deep V of his neckline) and jaw, and Sakuma wondered briefly if Fudou had posed himself this way on purpose. He quickly dismissed the idea. Fudou never really cared much for appearances, as evidenced by his general lack of anything resembling a fashion sense.

"Are you going to keep staring at me, Sakuma-kun? Or should I start explaining?" Fudou said, and Sakuma jolted. How long had Fudou had his eyes open? How hadn't he noticed?

Sakuma flushed. "Shut up. I just didn't recognize you, since you're actually wearing decent clothes today."

Fudou snickered at the blatant lie, but let it slide. Then he quickly schooled himself back into seriousness. "Do you want to talk here? Or... where?"

Sakuma mulled it over. Here was definitely not a good idea. But where? "There's a great coffee place about a block east of here. I go there all the time with Genda."

Fudou nodded. "All right, lead the way."


	6. Chapter 6

The cafe was packed, but Sakuma was pleased to note that his usual booth in the back corner remained unoccupied. He quickly herded Fudou towards it before it could be claimed by someone else.

"I'm going to order," he announced, plopping his laptop bag onto the bench opposite the one he'd shoved Fudou into. He probably shouldn't-- 5 minutes was hardly long enough to properly enjoy a coffee, especially one as good as what they served here-- but he had a feeling this meeting of theirs would extend beyond the time limit, if his heart's stupid antics yesterday were any indication. Besides, he could always make it to-go if he really had to, right?

"I'll have--" Fudou started, but Sakuma raised a hand to stop him.

"Let me guess," he said. "Black, and you want me to bring a handful each of the sugar and creamer packets so you can add them in bit by bit until you either like it or go too far." When Fudou opened his mouth again, he added, "Ah, right, and some form of cake. Probably cheesecake. Right?"

Fudou's brows rose practically to his hairline. "You still remember my habits?" he asked, a strange, almost-strangled quality to his voice.

Sakuma tried not too think too much about what that might imply. "Clearly. I can't seem to _un_ learn it. Probably something to do with the fact that I ordered it at least once a week for five or so years. Y'know. Maybe."

Fudou snorted at that. "Fine. Give me the receipt when you get back. I'll pay you for my share."

Sakuma waved a hand dismissively and went ahead to the counter before he could protest. Like he'd listen to Fudou.

He returned about a minute later bearing two steaming mugs of coffee and a cake balanced on a tray along with the promised heap of sugar and creamer packets. "Forgot to bring the receipt back. Tossed it out. Whoops," he deadpanned, before Fudou could even open his mouth.

"Funny. Ha. Ha." Fudou said, just as lively, in response. "I was hoping to make this less like a date than it already was, you know?" Either way, he reached out for the cup Sakuma hadn't claimed and began to dump sugar into it.

Sakuma eyed him oddly as he fixed his own coffee (three creamers, two sugars). "Friends... can still treat friends. This doesn't need to be a date." He raised a brow. "If you wanted one, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave now." He paused. "Which I'll be doing anyway in..." --he glanced at his phone for the time-- "three more minutes, so if I were you, I'd get to the point. I don't hate you anymore, but--"

"But you'd rather not be alone with me for too long, right? I don't blame you." Fudou grumbled it into his cup, looking almost like a pouting child. For god's sake they were adults now! In their twenties! How he could still pull a look like that off without looking dumb was beyond Sakuma's comprehension.

"Anyway," he continued, gaze shooting up to meet Sakuma's, "You're right. I just thought you deserved an explanation for back then-- but if that's too many painful memories to dredge up, then we can just... catch up I guess. Or you could go." Fudou shrugged carelessly, but Sakuma could still recognize the knot of tension in his movement-- apparently coffee habits weren't the only things he remembered.

"Well, I didn't come all this way just to treat you," Sakuma said, smiling a little to set him at ease. "So what happened?"

Fudou seemed to search his face for another beat. Then he sucked in a breath. "I..." He trailed off. Opened his mouth to try again. Shut it.

Then he fished around in his pocket instead, pulling out a rumpled letter that he slid across to Sakuma. "It came in the mail while you were on that retreat," he said lowly.

Sakuma scanned the paper slowly, and just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. It was a letter demanding repayment for a loan-- a ridiculous amount, really. He didn't even want to think about the actual numbers, but with the interest... it added up to maybe three-- no, four-- years of his salary.

Fudou waited for him to set the paper down before he spoke again. "My parents had been paying it off for a while, apparently. You know we weren't exactly rich or anything, right? So yeah." He swallowed tightly, frowning down at his drink. "The scholarship at Teikoku helped, but I have a feeling most of the debt probably had to do with the fact that they up and moved us to Tokyo for me to go there in the first place. Because I don't think that big an amount could have come from just... groceries and bills and all that. But they just... they were so happy when I brought that letter home, after the FFI. And things had seemed all right. Y'know? The old man had a decent job. Mom did too. And they weren't always snapping at each other the way they had when we'd been in Ehime."

Fudou's eyes had glossed over a bit, and Sakuma knew his mind was on those times together with his family, scrutinizing each memory as carefully as he did every match he watched. Looking for what he'd missed, what had gone wrong.

As for Sakuma himself, his chest felt tight, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for Fudou. He was blessed enough to have a relatively easy lifestyle-- and sure his family could be kind of stifling, but he'd never lacked for food or luxuries, and his friends more than made up for the lack of attention and support at home. But Fudou... well, at least Fudou had eventually gotten Inazuma Japan. It had been a rocky road, but they'd all learned to trust him. And he'd learned to trust in return, more importantly. And later on, he'd had Sakuma.

 _Until he left._ As always the bitterness washed over him long before he realized he'd still had it. He just wanted to know... why? But then, that's what Fudou was telling him, wasn't it? That was why he'd come.

Fudou cleared his throat, snapping Sakuma out of his thoughts. "Anyway, I only found out about all this when the letter arrived." He punctuated the sentence with a gesture at the missive in question. "The old man had died, and mom was getting too old to work much anymore. So the remaining balance fell to me."

Fudou eyed him warily, seemingly waiting for some question or protest or what-have-you. When none came, he went on, his voice softer now, "You didn't... I was so angry, Sakuma. For not having seen it. For being the cause of it when we should have been okay. And at them, too, for not telling me." He reached across the table, and for an instant it looked like he might hold Sakuma's hand.

Apparently thinking better of it, he settled for picking up one of the unused creamer sachets to fiddle with. "You didn't deserve to be around all that negativity. But that-- there was more to it than that. I knew I'd have to give up a lot of things. I'd have to work harder and eat less, buy less, be stingy about water and electricity, and I needed to sell off anything I could. I'd be grumpy and tired if I was home at all, and it didn't seem fair to have to either... make you suffer with me while I scrimped or cover for where I fell short-- which would have been a lot of places."

"You could have given me the choice, at least," Sakuma heard himself say. Like those words had been the last walls of some dam in his mind, words started pouring out. "I would have helped out, you know. And if you didn't want me to cover for you, we could have moved somewhere else. I wouldn't have minded being cheap for a while. Hell, I wouldn't have minded if you'd decided to freeload until the debt was paid." He sighed, glancing at the floor. "I deserved _that_ , at least." _You didn't need to hurt me like that_ , he added silently.

Fudou sipped at his coffee, made a face, and then set it back down. It was then that Sakuma remembered he was still holding his, now lukewarm and not as good as it should have been-- the five minutes had flown by without his noticing, but he didn't feel much inclined to leave now.

Finally Fudou responded, just above a whisper: "I know. I'm sorry. Really. But back then-- I was too proud and too stupid and too angry and I couldn't-- I couldn't bear it."

"It? What, trusting me?"

Fudou flinched. Attempting humor, he cracked a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "When you put it like that, you make me sound like a complete asshole."

Sakuma gave him a flat look. "You are one."

Fudou seemed to consider that. "Fair enough." He smiled a little, before sobering up again. "That wasn't what I meant, though. I trusted you. I knew you wouldn't mind. But I couldn't stand knowing I wasn't... _Dammit_ , Jirou. I wanted to be able to take care of you properly. And I couldn't do that like I was, not then."

Then. He'd said then. Sakuma felt a dry lump in his throat. "And now?"

"Now I don't have to pay them a single penny. I don't owe anything anymore. And I know better than to just abandon you, like that."

Sakuma felt his heart, frantic against his ribcage; it was practically vibrating, it was beating so fast. Did that mean...

"If you'd have me, Jirou, I was hoping we could start over."

 _Yes. A million times over. Yes. Please_. Sakuma was doomed. Doomed. It had barely taken anything to render him weak, but to make him so desperate for this, for them... that was something else entirely.

Oh, he was still mad. And hurt. But they could work things out, couldn't they? They'd had plenty of fights before. And they were older now, wiser.

That, and he could probably get revenge on Fudou in some other petty manner anyway.

Sakuma pretended to mull it over. "Let's see. Do I really want to get back together with a selfish, arrogant, sarcastic _bastard_ who can barely clean after himself? Depends. You won't be making any promises this time, will you?"

Fudou smirked. "Tch. Bastard, am I?"

"I told you a long time ago, remember?" Sakuma replied, shooting Fudou a grin of his own. On the tabletop, his hand found Fudou's and laced their fingers together, a quiet agreement. _Okay. Let's try._

He felt Fudou relax in his grip, his lips stretching wider. "You did. I believe I proved you wrong though."

"Did you really? Hm. Must have forgotten. How did you do that, again?" Sakuma tilted his head to the side and licked his dry lips slowly, watching as Fudou's gaze immediately zeroed in on the movement.

When he answered, Fudou's voice was rough, though he still looked about as smug as a cat. "I think you'd remember better if I showed you."

Later that evening, curled up together in the sheets of Sakuma's bed and starting to fall asleep, Fudou murmured, "Jirou?"

Sakuma shifted reluctantly. "Mm?"

"I promise, this time I--"

Sakuma pressed their lips together, stealing away whatever he'd meant to say before it could pass his mouth. "No promises. You'll just break them anyway."

Fudou's shrug was languid. It wasn't like he could deny it.

Sakuma smiled gently. "How about I do the promising instead? Unlike you, I'm a man of my word."

"Oh?"

Sakuma nodded seriously. "I am. And I promise you this: you aren't ever getting rid of me so easily again, Fudou Akio."


End file.
